


Lil’ Alpine Barnes

by buckybarnesplumwhore



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alpine baby barnes, Alpine is a little shit, Alpine the Cat, Black Reader, F/M, Reader-Insert, Sam and Bucky banter, alpine is a prince, like his daddy, this is practically crack LMAO
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:42:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28177080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buckybarnesplumwhore/pseuds/buckybarnesplumwhore
Summary: An inside of the life of the infamous furry brat of the Barnes family.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader
Kudos: 24





	Lil’ Alpine Barnes

**Author's Note:**

> do not, I repeat do not plagiarize my works! Nor translate on any media platforms. You will be reported and taken down. Follow my tumblr: BuckyBarnesPlumWhore

Bashful giggles, and delicate kisses -- tugging your heartstrings lose by each lick of your chaviles. Sleepy hymns of love -- savoring his favorite lulls slip from your pouty lips. His favorite harmony, your sweet moans are melodic to his ears. Lazy lips mold together, as flushed skin simmers under cooling sheets.

“Hmmm -- s’good morning, doll.” Bucky blissfully hums, misty-eyed baby blues hazily squinting at you. Rubbing his nose against yours ticklishly, shyly scrunching your nose. Bucky playfully nibbles at your bottom lip, tugging it slowly trapped between his pearly fangs. With a soft release of your lip, you moan, “Good morning, boo-bear.” Kissing the tip of his nose, Bucky playfully snorts at the nickname.

Entangled limbs, savoring the warm bodily heat of one another under the blooming morning sun shining through the curtains. Mindless bliss of two lovers bounded by vows, and years of undying commitment.

“Meow.” A soft mewl beckons, and halts your kissing, making you both chuckle against each other’s lips. Dark hazel and cerulean orbs peer over the blanket; a fluffy cloud of fur mumps at the edge of the bed, little paws kneeing -- like he’s patting down raw dough -- against Bucky’s and yours blanket clad feet -- demanding his rightful attention.

“Twah. Does our baby boy want some lovin’?” Bucky’s babified timbre spurs the furry snowball, a stretched gleeful meow is his only response -- jumping on tiny pitter-patters against the cushy fabric, landing right on his daddy’s broad chest, and slithering underneath the blanket with ease in Bucky's muscular arms.

Purrs slowly erupts from Alpine as he rubs his fuzzy dome against Bucky’s stubbled chin -- relishing in the father and son bond. “My sweet boy.” Bucky coos. You shook your head, with a smirk. “What? No love for mama?” You tease, chuckling. Faux offense, your wrist perched on your forehead, flopping your head against the pillow, “My own son doesn’t love me.” Bucky mumbles with a grin, _drama queen_.

A high-pitch wail shrilled out of him, pouncing on you, his little paws softly grasping your cheeks; licking your nose. “Who’s my sweet boy? My best boy?” Alpine mewls like a happy child, hogging all the attention.

“Me.” Bucky teases, with a tiny curl at the corner of his mouth. “Tsk. Seems like daddy’s a bit jealous.” You giggle as you kissed Alpine, lifting him by your hands tucked under his arms. Wiggling him mid-air, puckering your lips. Airy kisses, pulling Alpine back to your lips, you smooch on his whiskers. He softly sneezes a bit. Rubbing his face against your bee-stung lips.

“Mama’s boy,” Bucky whispers, moving a bit to hold you both in his arms.

Bucky chuckles watching his wife baby their cat -- his son. Little Alpine Barnes, a perfect addition to this little family. It was only just a year ago that Bucky and yourself adopted Alpine. A healthy factor for Bucky’s rehabilitation, a sweet suggestion by his therapist. At first, Bucky was hesitant at the idea. Fearing he wasn’t equipped mentally to have the responsibility for a pet.

After much positive coaxing and soothing his jittery mind, you finally compelled Bucky to take a trip to the city in search of an animal shelter.

You can still vividly recall that fateful day. The sun was shining high in the sky, beaming warm on your backs as you both strolled downtown, enjoying each other’s company as you two prepared for the fate of becoming pet parents. Bucky’s nerves flaring a bit, but your hold kept him grounded and comforted.

Interlinking your fingers with his, his glove-clad thumb lovingly stroking your hand. Making your heart skip as you felt the graze of his gold wedding band he wore outside of his glove against your fingers --- both shyly waltzing in the pet store. Already beaming with heart-eyes at the cute puppies at the store window.

The aroma of kibble --- along with that particular scent of animal --- and the cadence of birds chirping, dogs’ yapping, cats meowing, and other critters caught both your ears.

Scouting around the store --- although you both adored every single animal --- you needed to find the one that stuck out. Still attached hand to hand, you were halted as Bucky paused. You turned back to see Bucky, his lips parted but soon quickly forming into the biggest toothy smile; his glove-clad hand trembled a bit, but he placed his open-hand against the glass firmly.

Curled in the corner was a ball of snow fur, steering away from the other kittens wrestling. Moody stance, flexed back ears, but compassionate doe eyes -- and you thought to yourself, _‘Dear God if Bucky was an animal, this would be him.’_

After the entire adoption process, signing all the paper-work, and persuading the standoffish kitten to leave the comfort of his cage -- was when he really showed his colors. It was only a week after bringing Alpine home, he got comfortable. A little terror, a brat --- or how Tony fondly calls him ‘The Antichrist.’

Chewing on Sam’s shoes, defecating on Clint’s pillows, demanding a lot of food (a big eater just like his ol’man), pissing in shoes, crashing just a few vases -- whilst staring dead in the eye of any nearby bystander. Cause he knows --- oh he knows --- there would be no consequences thrown his way. It was his way of saying ‘fuck you’ to the Avengers.

Always defending him, Bucky and yourself never really scolded him, always ready with the excuse, “He’s a kitten. He’s just getting comfortable in a new environment.” As the team huffs, and moans, knowing fully well that there was no justice in the foreseeable future. And the suggestion of getting rid of Alpine was out of the question --- because of Bucky, and you will seek Hell from all nine realms upon the Avengers.

Alpine would just look at everyone as you or Bucky held him in your arms’ and Sam nearly passed out; Alpine had a devilish smirk.

As if Alpine was saying, _“Look at me --- I’m the Captain now.”_

Finally, a truce was settled, when Tony began feeding Alpine premium tuna, he stated “To keep the peace. Cats are cunningly evil. I don’t want to be at the receiving end of his claws.” Although Alpine toned down his antics, his attitude never faltered.

You can still recall Bucky saying with a grin, “He’s an asshole. He’s perfect.”

Alpine stretches and flexes his paws towards Bucky’s lips, his little trimmed claws grazing his glossy pink lips. You snicker behind Alpine’s fur, maneuvering him in your hands to face Bucky, “Kiss my paws, daddy.” Pretending to speak as Alpine, in a high-pitched childish voice.

Bucky loses himself to a full-belly laugh, his nose scrunching, the corner of his eyes crinkling. God, what a sight --- your heart bursts at the seams, you could never stop loving his face. His purity makes you want to cry, and scream at the top of your lungs, I love this man! And by God, he’s mine!

“You want me to kiss your little toes?” Alpine meows in response. Bucky began playfully nibbling Alpine’s paws. “So spoiled.” You cackle, as Bucky smooched on Alpine’s little feet.

You tuck Alpine to lay back down between Bucky, and yourself --- where he belongs, with his mommy and daddy --- snuggling him under the covers in your arms’. Caressing Alpine’s fur between your fingers, as Bucky strokes Alpine’s ears; his little eyes slowly drooping shut in bliss.

Bucky adoringly stares at you, “I love you.” Biting your bottom lip, smiling like a goofy idiot.

“I love you too.”

 _Meow_.

Alpine seconds that notion.

\--

It’s noon.

The aroma of sizzling eggs, a few hash browns, waffles, bacon, one small pizza for a particular hawk in the sky, and cooked salmon infiltrates the air. With sliced fruits --- plums, and melons. Cooking a hearty brunch for your husband, and son --- along with Sam and Steve; as a particular fluff-ball lingers near your feet, impatiently waiting for his food. Always without fail, after a run, three bodies marinating with sweat, and bellies rumbling with hunger --- calories are burned; especially burned a lot with two super soldiers with advanced metabolisms.

Steve and Bucky always come back like ravenous wolves ready to devour your cooked meals. You’ve spoiled them with your cooking --- having grown up in the 40s with only boiled foods, often those two knuckleheads engorge in modern cooked meals. The rest of the team were sleeping in, so you usually package the rest of the food in containers for them to eat later.

Bucky barrels into the kitchen with fresh mint shampoo, and eucalyptus wafting off of him, overriding all your senses --- but despite a very much needed shower after his run with Steve, the intoxicating musky smell of Bucky still seeps from his skin. It’s masculine, yet soft --- his natural scent just emits off him in intoxicating waves. And you just wanna bend over ass up for him right here in the damn kitchen floor.

Hair slicked back and wet, in his red Hemley that just accentuate his molded tight chest perfectly; putting Hercules's entire legacy to fucking shame. “You’re droolin’.” Bucky huskily speaks into your ear, you moan. “Can you blame me?” Bucky is hovering over you, grinding subtly against your ass.

“No, I can’t.” Bucky breathes into your ear; hot, and breathy --- fuck, it sends a tingle down your spine. You moan pitifully, “Bucky, I can’t. I gotta keep cooking.” A flick of his tongue, and it’s pushing you over the edge, as Bucky grinds a little more against you. He moans huskily in your ear, with a nibble at your ear, dragging his teeth against your skin. Rutting his growing desire for you against your ample ass.

“Meoowww.” A stretched demand interrupts, Alpine twirling himself between your ankles, as he paws the hem of Bucky’s sweatpants. His fluffy tail curving, peering up at you both with the biggest doe eyes; drooling for his lunch. “Alright, alright, your food is comin’.” Bucky bends a bit downward to scratch Alpine’s head, with a crooked smile.

“He’s probably saying ‘please mom and dad, stop dry-humping in the kitchen.’ I pity the brat, he probably saw the horrors of you two jack-rabbits.” Sam scowls as he enters the kitchen, cracking his neck, as he plops down at the table, sore from the run, and fresh from the shower --- you still laugh watching Sam try to catch up with Buck, and Steve.

“First of all, good afternoon pigeon. And second of all, when Bucky and I have sex, we make sure to lock the door.” You say, rolling your eyes. Playfully lifting your nose in the air, “We’re responsible parents, we will never scar our baby.” You nudge Bucky by the elbow with a smirk as he sneaks Alpine pieces of fish; he responds with a kiss on your cheek and a cheeky bite.

“It looks like you’re about to right now.” Sam gags as Bucky holds your waist by his biceps, tightly against his torso, locking you by his fore-arms with one hand clutched on each arm. Hugging you, never wanting to let go. “Don’t be pissy at me, cause ya’ don’t have a woman.” Bucky jabs smirking, his lips against your curled dome, resuming back to necking you.

Sam sucks his teeth, “Hey, I get plenty of pussy.” He puffs his chest out, challenging his dominance. “I have no problem getting laid, I got my special ladies on speed dial.” Snaps his fingers, winking with much smooth swagger. You giggle, and Bucky just rolls his eyes with a lazy grin.

“It’s too early to discuss coitus.” A booming voice enters the kitchen, naturally demanding space. Even in the early hours, Steve can sound like an authoritarian -- despite sounding exhausted. The beacon of justice and liberty --- a bit weary at his burning blues, and not in the mood to hear Sam declaring he’s the coochie man at literally eleven in the morning.

The muscled modern Spartan walks into the kitchen, his head shaking a bit, like a disappointed father, but there’s a hint of a smirk curling at the corner of his lips.

“You mean _fucking_ \--” You playfully hiss through your teeth, always a need to push Steve’s buttons to the brink of bashfulness. To the outsider’s untrained eye, Steve is America’s wholesome golden boy --- fucking lies. Having the honor to discover at one late night girls’ night with Sharon, in confidence, and slurring trust --- Sharon was two fingers deep in scotch when she gushed over her sexual escapades with America’s blue-eyed baby, you found out that Steve Grant Rogers is anything but innocent.

His bedroom name is Captain Nasty --- once a tease from Sharon in bed with her Stevie stuck itself like a brand in their sexual activities.

Steve Rogers is one kinky bastard.

The morning after, you snuck up on Steve, and Sharon in the living space, coyly addressing him as “Oh hey, there Captain Nasty.” Wiggling your eyebrows, Sharon gasps with a fluttering smile, shooing you away with a swat of her hand.

A bulb burnt out in Steve’s brain, his eyes dilated, as his cheeks redden like a ripe tomato, embarrassment shivering up his spine; with Sharon groaning, hiding her face in the crook of Steve’s neck.

It’s endearing that he naturally withholds his shy nature --- while a filthy beast stays hidden within.

“Anyways…” Steve cuts you off, his eyes straining closed, his hand placed over his heart as in faux offense. You and Bucky whisper under your breaths, ‘ _Captain Nasty_ ’. Steve chokes between gasps, his ears turning bright pink, shushing you both with a swat of his hand in the air -- as Bucky and yourself laugh like cackling hens.

“Meow.” Steve peeks down at his feet to find Alpine rubbing his body against his legs.

“Hey, Alpine.” Steve bends down to pick him up, Alpine keening under Steve’s touch. Alpine distracting Steve from his earlier embarrassment with his undeniable cuteness.

Purring as Steve scratches his chin, his little head weaning backward for Steve’s marvelous fingers to get full coverage. Kissing Alpine behind his pointed ears, Steve’s fingers soothing his fur.

“Of course, his favorite,” Sam mutters, rolling his eyes sardonically. It’s no secret that silently trying to earn Alpine’s respect has become the top tier goal of the Avengers’, right before trying to lift Mjolnir. Just too prideful to admit that deep down in their shriveled hearts, they adore the furry bastard.

So far, Alpine doesn’t bother Natasha (Alpine quickly respected the reserved Widow, and her demure style. It was just instinct.), Wanda (Alpine loves to take naps with her, and listen to her Slovak lullabies), Steve (Steve buys him toys, and different cat foods. Cuddles galore. Uncle Stevie is the best), Thor (both love to play-wrestle with each other), Rhodey (Alpine enjoys his presence, and intently listens to Rhodey’s stories), and Bruce (Alpine’s comfort for Bruce’s anger and anxiety issues, observes Bruce, and Tony tinkering in the lab.) --- doesn’t include any of these Avengers in his antics anymore; still bratty and demanding --- but it’s only Sam, and Clint left.

Alpine loves them, it’s just more fun to fight with these two.

Occasionally, Tony -- but those two share a complicated relationship. One minute, those two are chilling, and then insult each other in snarky comments, and sassy hisses. Neither doesn’t take it personally --- there’s definite love between the Antichrist and the billionaire genius.

“He’s his favorite cause he smells like Tin-Man.” A disembodied voice lingers into the kitchen, the source coming through the vents above. “Naturally, animals will associate with others who smell like their superiors in the higher chain of command.” Steve chuckles at Clint, as Alpine rubs his face against Steve’s shaven cheek.

“If that was the case, Clint, he would be all over Sam then.” You retort, turning off the stove to serve scrambled eggs on each plate, along with plating every piece of food -- besides the salmon.

“Unfortunately, I have to spend time with your husband more than I like.” Sam murmurs but his tone was light; no matter what Sam or Bucky says those two need each other --- despite being at the others’ throats from time to time. Sam politely takes his plate from you with a thank you, as you finish filling it, along with a mug of black coffee.

To revive life into the gremlin within.

“I love spending time with my Bucky.” You grab his jaw, gently squishing his stubbled cheek making his lips pucker -- a little squished smile gleams back at you. Bucky letting you have your way with him, taking all the kisses you want. Bucky hums a moan, vibrating in his chest.

Steve rolls his eyes with a grin, happy his life-long friend has peace, and love that he always wanted -- rightfully deserves. And so utterly pussy-whipped for his girl.

Sam nearly pukes over his cooked lunch, almost chokes on his chewed eggs.

“Stop.” He whines, dragging his speech like a toddler pinching his eyes shut. “Please, I don’t need to see Bucky give you a horizontal refreshment right here in the kitchen.” Stabbing his eggs, and bacon with his fork a little too hard to emphasize his grievance.

You release Bucky from your grip, although he’s flicking his nose against your hair for you to do it again --- his persistent penchant to be babied by you all the time. You smooch his dimpled chin with a lingering kiss, as you hand him his hefty plate. His mouth-watering, he’s obsessed with your cooking just as much as he’s obsessed with you.

Sending him off with a slap on the ass, god damn that man. Damn him, he’s got a great fucking ass. Especially when you grab his firm cheeks as he delves his cock deeper in -- a shrill interrupts your intrusive thoughts.

“Meow!” Alpine hisses in Steve’s arms, his tiny paw scratching the air at Sam. Bucky cackles with a smile, “That’s my boy.” Sam raises his hands in the air in defeat, looking at you as he silently asks, _what I do now?_

“You see --- they understand us very well. They know who to respect and who to shit on.” Clint speaks again, as you wait with a smirk, hands perched on your hips, staring at the vent opening, for the bird-brain to fly down and eat with everyone else.

“The real reason why Alpine gives Sam shit is that he and Bucky throw insults at each other every-day.” Steve perks up, laughing at Alpine’s prickling hairs; trying to soothe back his fur.

“And he’s gonna automatically defend his daddy.” You sing-song, placing Steve’s plate on the table --- much bigger than Sam’s, and the same massive size as Bucky’s.

Steve thanks you with a sweet smile, as he places Alpine back on the floor, taking his seat at the table beside Bucky --- bad mistake.

You begin to fill Alpine’s bowl. On the cutting board is grilled salmon, and mashed cooked chicken. In a bowl set aside is cooked brown rice and millet. Meat protein and whole grains. A healthy diet to prevent any diseases and strengthen his heart. Sam often jokes that Alpine eats better than him.

But blinding your eye away from an annoyed Alpine is a --- bad move.

Alpine saunters towards Sam’s feet, silently like a predator in the jungle, gliding his soft belly against the flooring. Crouching on all fours. His pointy ears laid back, his shoulders flex like a jaguar. Inching a bit closer now, sliding with ease against the legs of the chairs, his arms reach a bit towards Sam’s unsuspecting feet.

Just more closer now --- he’s seen it on Animal Planet before, as Bucky and yourself would let him watch it with you two on lazy Sundays. It’s become a routine for the snowball. Alpine’s eyes marveled in wonder, absorbing it all. Soaking into his little mind, never once moving from the couch to witness how lions dominated the animal kingdom with stealthy born instincts.

How ferocious lions mangle their foes over territory all in the namesake of who’s superior.

By God, Alpine was inspired.

Thinking it was healthy to let Alpine witness educational programs on different wildlife from programs such as Discovery Channel and Animal Planet, especially various species of cats in all shapes and sizes --- how his ancestors before evolution and breeding inhabited and ruled the animal kingdom with an iron paw.

Bucky stated, “He needs to know where he came from.” More like garbled.

It all started that one drunk night, it was just a late-night gathering for the team to wind down in drinking cocktails of Asgardian Ale and Midgardian liquor.

Remnants of alcohol simmered in Sam’s veins, and growing the nerve to pull Alpine’s pisser, “Alpine has such an ego, he thinks he’s Mufasa!” He was still reeling from earlier that day, because Alpine pissed in his shoes, he could still feel the wet sensation of his sock-clad feet.

Sam leaned towards Alpine, bopping his pink nose with a condescending shit-eating grin, “But he’s just a putty-tat.” Alpine’s whiskers twitched in annoyance.

In a drunken state, furious that Sam would doubt your son, you hoisted Alpine up in the air, as if you were fucking Rafiki, and Alpine was baby Simba --- and the rest was the congregation of African animals.

You began sloppily singing the Zulu chant from the Lion King --- it was choppy, broken, and what Sam called it, ‘A crying shame!’ You blurrily remember a very drunk and laughing Rhodey yelling “Our ancestors are rolling in their fucking graves!”

With Bucky slurring and shouting with fatherly pride swelling in his chest, **_“LONG LIVE THE KING!”_**

It inflated Alpine’s ego to another level.

Right now is Alpine’s moment. It’s his time to prove Sam wrong. Alpine is Mufasa, and Sam is merely Zazu … Alpine is gonna tackle this mouthy bird.

"Alpine …” A warning, as if reprimanding a child. “Don’t you dare, mister.” You kneeled, pointing your finger, crouching on your knees to Alpine’s level on the floor, peeking underneath the table.

Bucky whines, “Doll, no.” His laughter dying down to a precious pout.

Alpine released a little huff. Caught red-handed --- well more red-paw? Sam in a hurried state, checking underneath the table to see Alpine’s claws just hairs away from scratching his toes. Flinching his feet away, he curses Alpine under his breath.

Alpine wasn’t so incognito as he thought he was, Steve and Bucky caught on quickly. From his peripheral vision, Bucky instantly saw white fur gliding through the chairs --- he nudged Steve to look. Instead of alerting Sam, he covered his mouth to prevent any laugh from bursting out.

If you didn’t turn to put down Alpine’s bowl on the floor --- Sam would've been fucked. “We don’t claw others. Now come get your food.” You slightly shook Alpine’s bowl in your hand, a distraction so he won’t slice and dice like he was in a street fight --- like he was a damn alley cat. For a second, it looks as if he rolls his eyes, with a snarky meow towards Sam.

“Don’t talk like that to Sam.” You chuckle but resume back to being stern, struggling to frown; your lips contorting from a thin line to trembling laughs. “Rude ass.” Sam murmurs, “Always talking back.” He clicks his tongue, his nostrils flared.

Another quick meow fires back, and Alpine continues. It was a string of meows --- as if he was mocking Sam, his head moved as if he was mimicking him as well.

_This little shit._

Steve busted out, almost choking on his orange juice, Bucky’s heaving over his sliced plums. His head tilting back, his hands on his chest; Steve doubling-over holding his guts. Steve’s wheezing as if he was that a small boney asthmatic all over again.

As Steve and Bucky were losing their shit, full-body shakes --- Sam sat in his seat shocked. As if he couldn’t believe his ears at the blatant disrespect.

“No, he didn’t!” Clint watching the show go down through the vent opening, snickering.

“You know what, Alpine? You talk like you’re grown as your balls dropped. Put those paws up!” Sam barks, pushing his seat back --- staring at Alpine dead in the eye.

Alpine shouts back, “Meow!” It was scratchy and high-pitched. Alpine’s back-arching, hissing as his body moved backward as if he was charging up by the balls of his little feet --- ready for the fight like his uncle Stevie.

“This has been a long-time comin’! Swing!” Sam daring Alpine to cut him, he never thought in a million years he would get in a brawl with a damn house cat. Wow, his life has really boiled down to this.

From retired pararescue, a counselor for veterans, transformed and recruited as an Avenger --- cut down by a bratty feline. How marvelous it would look on his resume of life accomplishments.

"No!” You wave your arms in the air frantically, trying to defuse the squabble. “No fighting! We are a family! Now, Alpine, come eat!” Scrambling over your words, mixed with laughter, twisting your head to see Bucky got tears in his eyes, along with Steve’s face with trickling tears.

Clint’s squawking was still echoing throughout the vent system, Steve’s face reddens as he’s trying to control himself.

Alpine cattily murmurs under his breath, as he moves languidly away from Sam’s feet -- he pauses a bit, twists his head over his little shoulder, glaring the evil eye at Sam through squinted slits; as if he was saying, _‘This ain’t over, bitch.’_

“ _Meow_.” It was clipped, sharp, and quick. Having the final word. Alpine’s nose was scrunched up, snarling lowly as he walked over near Bucky, as you followed behind him.

“Oh yeah? Well, you stink!” Sam roars, resuming back to his plate. Alpine hisses, his paws scrabbling against the flooring trying to run back to Sam. Luckily, you scope him by the underbelly from your palm, redirecting him.

A high-pitched chuckle escaped Steve, rubbing his watery eyes; and you swore you thought you would have never heard the man of Liberty himself squeak like that. As Alpine walked past his father, Bucky’s fingertips grazed Alpine’s furry spine, “That’s my boy. I raised you right.”

You place the bowl for Alpine, his bowl next to his served goat milk, despite Alpine acting out, you massage his head as he chomps down --- he’s still your baby.

“Tuh -- I knew it. Alpine literally talks shit, and you’re still coddling him.” Sam shakes his head, as he continues to munch down on his food. “Shush, he’s just moody. I know my baby.” You dreamily soothing his bristle hairs. He meows softer now between his chewing, savoring his mother’s gentle touch.

“Moody, my ass.”

“Ya’ know, speaking of stink --- do some of you notice a smell around the compound?” Clint spoke by the kitchen’s entry-way, finally remerging into the kitchen, walking and stretching his limbs a bit from ruffling in the narrow vents.

“Maybe it’s your nest.” Sam side-eyes him, as his anger simmers now to mellow pettiness. “It’s not my nest!” Although Clint flicks Sam by the ear, he slyly lifts his armpit up to double-check.

No, all good in that department.

“It's a weird smell lingering.” Clint continues, “Like slowly festering.”

“It’s definitely your nest marinating,” Sam replies waspishly, still staring at the back of Alpine’s head. Making sure that menace doesn’t move near him again. “It’s not,” Clint grumbles, his eyes narrowing daggers at Sam. “Don’t speak ill of my nest, pigeon.”

“Kiss my ass, sparrow.” Sam spits, it hasn’t even been ten minutes, and already there’s another fight brewing. Idiots, you thought to yourself with an eye-roll.

“Enough.” Steve integrates, placing a hand in the air. “Please let’s enjoy our meal in peace. And to answer your question, Clint. Yes --- there is a weird smell. I keep trying to spray, but it’s still around.” You nod in his direction --- there has been an odd smell suffocating the compound for the last few days.

Steve inhales deeply a bit to confirm it’s still there --- and for sure, it’s an odd smell flooding the space.

“See!” Clint points at Sam, with a victorious smile, “Told you!” Sam rolls his eyes, abruptly getting up from his seat, having finally cleared his plate, and downing the last drops of his caffeine.

“That’s it. I’m heading to my room for peace and quiet --- away from furry beasts, and free from foul odors.” Sam wipes his hands to indicate that he’s tired of this bullshit --- but undoubtedly he caught on to the scent too.

Clint mutely mimics Sam, with his hand maneuvering as a mouthpiece. But as Clint walked towards you, as you were filling his plate, his eyes fell on Alpine. A bulb flickers over his head. “Maybe …” Clint’s words trail into a whisper, scratching his chin, brows furrowing with concentration. “It’s Alpine?” Bucky’s silver-ware clangs a bit against his plate, huffing, and puffing.

“No way. We make sure he’s clean. We bathe him every other week.” Bucky clicks his tongue, his cerulean hues darkening --- not liking what Clint was accusing. His hands flew in the air in defense, brows rising high to his hairline, “Okay. Okay. It’s not Alpine. But there is a funk.” Clint backpedals away from the pointed daggers from the irritated father.

“I, for one believe it could be that little menace stinking up the place.” Sam ushers under his breath, as he walks out of the kitchen. Bucky growls slowly, his nose crumpling up. “I wouldn’t be surprised! Mark my words!” And with that, Sam stomps out of the kitchen, fuming at the ears.

“What a grumpy ass,” Clint says, waving him off.

You playfully pinch a piece of Clint’s skin at the waist to gain his attention, he yelps; as you were standing behind him. Offering his plate with a cheeky smile, “Here. Sit and eat. I made sure to add more pepperoni and cheese. And I’ll make sure to notify Tony about the odor.” You appease him, toying with his sleeves and tittering at his larky gaze.

Clint stuffs his whole mouth with his pizza, chomping, and chewing like a dog. Sluggishly walking to his seat.

Alpine stretches, the extension of his body cruising against your bare feet. “Oh -- is my baby finished with his food?” Alpine yips, standing by the balls of his paws, pawing at your legs to be picked up with stretched arms as if he’s asking for a hug. You hum, kneeling to scope him up.

“I've never seen Alpine so angry before,” Steve muses with a small smirk. Bucky gestures with his hands _‘gimme gimme’_ in your direction, “He did what he had to do. Sam was giving him shit.” Bucky had an edge of pride, like Alpine’s attempt of bodily harm was the best thing to ever happen.

You were about to hand Alpine to Bucky, but his palms flew to your waist, pulling you down to his lap. Nibbling, and smooching on your shoulder causing you to giggle from his ticklish lips --- just how he likes it. With his wife, and son in his arms. “Uggh --- I agree with Sam on one thing. I don’t wanna see you two doing it in the kitchen.” Clint fauxily vomits.

“Oh yeah? Got a problem? Alpine, c’mere and piss on Clint’s waffles.” Bucky says, with a wicked grin, you were already positioning Alpine, with his leg in your palm --- ready on lift and aim. Alpine’s meows, but it sounds more like a hissing crackle. Steve arches his brow, his eyes widen, a bit frightened that this animal purely understands the act of mischief --- truly Alpine was born to be a Barnes.

Perhaps Alpine was personally crafted and molded by the clever hands of the God of Mischief, himself. A gift of tiny destruction to reek upon the world, Steve mulls to himself.

“NO! Not my waffles!” Clint scurries, snatching his plate --- a lucky act, just an inch quicker from the stream of urine.

\--

Somewhere in the delirium of sour stench and annoyance, Earth’s Mightiest Heroes was beginning to question their sanity. Wondering where that goddamn smell is coming from?!

Checking the corners of the furniture, inspecting the bathrooms to see if there was a plumbing issue --- the scent was heavier not only to their airways but sticking against their skin. Afraid it will seep within the threaded fabric of their clothes.

The air was so pungent, that if anyone talked they could taste it somehow --- that’s how horrid it’s become. Even thoroughly inspecting the vents -- just in case -- regardless of Clint’s infuriating rambling.

A suggestion was perked up, to clear the air by powering the AC.

Cool artificial air only caused more havoc, rendering useless as the smell was now circulating in motion around the corridors. Permeating in their brains --- scarring it. Ingraining so deeply, even running outside for fresh air, a ghosting waft can hit.

“That’s it! I can’t take it anymore!” Natasha shrills, incoherent curses spewing in Russian flies in the air; losing grip of her ever-cool stature. “It’s been two weeks, and it’s only getting worse!” Natasha pinches her nose, just for a brief moment of relief.

“We checked everywhere. The bathrooms, the kitchens, the fucking vents --- nothing!” Wanda cries, her frustration manifesting through her carmine energy, zapping at the fidgety fingertips.

At one point, she silently read all of their minds, despite an unspoken rule that Wanda was forbidden to invade privacy --- just wondering if anyone was hiding the truth in a momentary lapse of desperation. The results came back that no one knew the source --- bewildered minds with no answers.

“Milt.” The elevator dings, metal doors revealing a smug God, his voice just as thunderous of his worldly powers. Deeply laughing to himself --- the only one who hasn’t complained or yelled at the heavens about the foul air. “Excuse me?” Tony exasperatedly frowns, crossing his arms across his chest.

“How do Midgardians say --- cum?” Everybody flies off the furniture, screaming bloody murder --- have they been seating on cum this entire time? Clint jumps on Natasha’s back, dangling like Scooby on Shaggy, teetering feet trying to balance Clint’s weight.

Tony inhales deeply by the nose, his eyes closed just cooly getting up from the couch, and stiffly walking to his bar --- but internally dying inside, as if the hand of God punched his soul clean through his Arc reactor.

Steve’s eyes gingerly close, and just thanks in silent prayers to God, his son Jesus, the Holy Spirit, and his mother, the late saint Sarah Rogers that he was already standing up, and his firm patriotic ass wasn’t anywhere near the cushions.

Bucky seizes you by the forearm, hating the possibility that not only was he sitting in dried fluid, but somehow it touched his woman in any way. The only cum that can touch your skin, is his only. Rubbing against your jean-clad bottom, trying to get rid of any remaining residue; as you tried to mimic Bucky’s actions as you tried to clean his clothes.

Rhodey chokes on his spit, “And how pre-tell do you know what semen smells like?” Scratching himself all over, trying to tame his nerves and disgust. Bruce was just quiet, silently stunned as he stammered to the bar, tapping his fingers against the counter, signaling Tony to pour him a shot. He had his suspicions, but he wasn’t quite sure, because he couldn’t detect the source, or find any physical substance.

Also, he was rather too shy to say there was a chance it was semen or who it came from.

“On my planet, animals can be rather larger than your own, and when they excrete, it's heavier and smells much worse than here and more --- well, let’s just say I’ve become accustomed to the fragrance.” A chorus of ews echos throughout the lounge, but soon cut short --- did this man just say animal?

Deafening silence.

“Did you just say animal?” Sam chirps, an evil simper. He fucking knew it, baring his fangs, ready to rub it in Bucky’s face that he fucking knew it was the evil one.

All eyes fly to Bucky and yourself. Half somberly frowning, others just flabbergasted. “We didn’t know!” Bucky shouts, now moving you behind his back, ready to face any backlash, and protect you from any impending attacks.

“We’ve been literally inhaling, and sitting in Alpine’s spunk!” Sam shouts, shivering at the thought. Hacking a bit to emphasize his disgust. Scratching his arms, as if ticks were magically appearing.

“How old is the little Barnes?” Thor quizzes, remembering that the little critter is a bit young, not fully knowledgeable on the biology of midgardian creatures. “He just turned one last month.” You spoke over Bucky’s shoulder in a whisper, as you massaged Bucky’s flesh arm, to quill his defensive stance.

“That would explain it. He’s already mature to begin his mating.” Bruce shares, cleaning his glasses, “The youngest cats can start spraying is around six months, but for male cats, it’s younger around four to five. I’m surprised he’s starting now.” Tony begins chuckling with the world’s biggest sarcastic grin, as he pours himself more whiskey for himself, and Bruce to numb his pique, but it’s not joyful, it’s trenchant.

If he doesn’t laugh, he’ll fucking scream his head off.

Just fucking tip into lunacy.

You nearly passed out on the floor, a hay fever already consuming your skull, your knees weak, and wobbling a bit. You lean against Bucky’s muscular back for support -- preventing your knees to buckle -- your slim arms engulfing his torso, this can’t be happening right now.

“Where is the little menace?” Sam grits through his teeth, Bucky narrows his eyes at him. The gears in his mind shifting, his fists clenching and unclenching. “He’s not a menace, asshole.” Bucky spats, shuffling a bit at the feet, ready to wrangle Sam to the floor.

“I’m an asshole?” Sam mocks Bucky, stretching his speech mockingly high-pitched; his hand perched at his chest, his brows satirically arching high to the hairline. “Bucky, you’re the one who adopted a purebred asshole.” It was a thunderous roar, of unadulterated frustration seeping out of Bucky, dashing and charging. Sam retaliates with a war cry, like a disgruntled Spartan with curling fists.

Now both of them running towards each other to brawl, Bucky jumping over the couch with precision, and Sam fumbling and sprinting a bit to get a good hook --- quickly, Rhodey clumsily bear-hugs Sam, his feet fumbling a bit, with Wanda’s mystic energy withholding him in mid-pause. Along with Steve and yourself holding back Bucky, digging your heels against the marble flooring, tugging by the arms trying to prevent a catfight from breaking loose.

Natasha and Clint are literally mute, sputtering between chuckles, and eyes widen in disbelief --- utterly amused by the unraveling chaos. Parked at the corner, hugging each other so their laughs won’t seep out.

Tony throws daggers at the duo, “I’m so glad you find this amusing, Thing One and Two.” He whispers in a hiss. Natasha and Clint only laugh harder, clutching onto their bellies.

“You always had a problem with Alpine!” Bucky barks, now their faces almost near each other, snarling. Just hairs away from noses touching. “Not at first, but that little heathen started fucking with everybody!” Sam bites back, growling. “It’s literally not the best time for arguing right now,” Steve commands the room, his voice lowering an octave --- transforming into the hardened shield of commanding Captain.

Yielding Sam and Bucky from each other, straining a bit to tug the snarling men --- both throwing daggers at each other from their hissing eyes. You sneak around Bucky so he can face you, twirling your body around him, never relenting your grasp.

You’re hugging him like a life-line, bellies touching. Your open-palms rubbing circles at the nape of his back by your fingertips. The horizontal lines of his brows shadowing his menacing blues, his olive skin flushing to a slight sweep of red at the cheeks.

“Baby, look at me.” You coo, your thumb rubbing the slope of his flaring nostrils, his eyes were hardened, and his jaw clenching; still not wavering his sight from Sam, but then he succumbs to you gently. The snarling papa bear softens under his wife’s touch. Breaking his roaring oceanic hues from Sam’s furious striking hazel ones, softening like putty underneath you.

“We’re going to handle this. Just ignore Sam, he’s just being an ass.” Sam huffs at your words, mumbling under his breath --- along with the words of ‘and you’re married to an ass’ --- but you continue to disregard him. “We’re going to discuss back at our room, and get Alpine ---” Your words trail into silence.

Your confused eyes scan the room, your head snapping in all directions, for a moment, Bucky was anxious that you were going to self-inflict whiplash. His hands cupping your neck, halting your actions; forcing you to look him in the eye.

Bucky’s brows dents and furrows in confusion.

“What’s wrong, doll?” Bucky’s timbre is lacing with distress. “Where is Alpine?” Your heart-rate is speeding up, thumping against your cavity --- you remember Alpine was sat on the floor near your feet, but being swept by the arguing you didn’t notice his absence.

“Probably fucking more furniture,” Sam mutters to himself, Bucky’s upper lip snarls, but he remains silent. Focusing back on you, pained to see your anxiety-ridden face. “We’re going to go find him. He’s probably just wandering around the corridors.” Bucky won’t let it show, but he’s masking his paranoia with a sweet poker face, to relax your nerves, and his as well.

Bucky doesn’t want you losing yourself in a frantic fit, succumbing to your maternal instincts. The feathers of your inner mother hen fluttering, and squawking at the pit of your heart for your furry egg. Bucky turns to the rest of the team, “We’ll be back. Just going to find Alpine.” Trying his best to conceal his voice from wavering. Bucky wraps you underneath his arm, holding you tightly against him, to ground himself back to calm reality, and for yourself.

“We’re gonna help. Solve this once and for all. I don’t want your son to taint my compound anymore.” Tony’s brown orbs turn into slits, his prominent brow looming over; peering over the hem of his glass, downing the last of his whiskey.

Everyone gathers together as if preparing for a mission --- well it was --- especially for Tony, now on a man-hunt to find baby Barnes, and stop this feline semen madness. Bucky mentally preparing himself, just in case to wring Sam’s ass from wall to wall if he does anything stupid towards Alpine. Bucky’s concealing a momentary smug smirk from forming.

Fantasies of ripping Sam’s metal wings apart, piece by piece, screw by screw --- images of breath-taking rage just looping in his mind.

Anything for his baby-boy.

\--

Checking the kitchen. No Alpine. Checking the lab. No Alpine --- Bruce, and Tony were internally grateful that the furry one didn’t spray on any undeveloped experiments, or get his paws dirty with toxic chemicals. Holding onto each other, hugging each other to settle frazzled nerves.

Checking the vents (Alpine climbs and crawls in unusual locations). No Alpine. Clint almost fell to his knees, filled with immense relief that Alpine didn’t ruin his nest. It takes particular organizing to create the perfect space for comfort and peace --- and the perfect spot for eavesdropping. Checking the garage. No Alpine. Every Avenger checks their rooms. No Alpine. Everybody dashing around like headless chickens, you and Bucky on the brink of heart-stopping panic attacks.

_Where in the fuck is Alpine?_

Footfalls echoing down the corridors, voices rising in volume. All heading back to the living area, you were sputtering in fear over if Alpine got hurt. Everyone was busy talking over each other, questions flying in the air overlapping one another about Alpine’s whereabouts.

From his peripheral vision, Sam had to take a double glance. His head snapping towards the corner to see a familiar white cloud. Instant disgust growing at the pit of his belly.

“Oh God --” Sam baby-burps in his mouth. “ -- I found him. And he’s licking his balls.” A balled fist covering his mouth. Everyone silences, all heads quickly looking in Sam’s direction, pointing towards his furry enemy by his index.

Slow condensing claps echo throughout the compound, Tony shakes his head with a frustrated smirk. “Well isn’t that cute? Now that he has humped, and sprayed all over the damn place -- he licks himself clean like he’s hot-shit.” Alpine was neck-deep in his crotch, little toes flexed in the air, leg stretched wide as he bathes himself.

“Alpine -- please no.” You whimper, your chin wobbles --- this all being too much for your dizzied state. Your son is now going through a phase of forth-coming puberty, ready to mate, and was able to make Bucky and yourself grandparents. You’re not ready to accept that he’s growing up, that indeed time is fleeting.

Alpine lifts his tiny head up, small smirk curls at his mouth. Aware of how everyone was sprinting all around in search of him, and still hidden from plain sight. Sam nearly screams at the top of his lungs, this little cocky brat. In a blurring dash, you and Bucky fly to his side, Bucky picking up him against his chest.

Bucky mumbling to Alpine’s ears, his pink lips against Alpine’s fur, “You’re gonna get a bath.” A low groan vibrates from Alpine, his eyes lowered, and his little ears pointed backward.

“Keep Rosemary’s Baby in the room, while I call for a cleaner,” Tony grumbles, hurriedly dialing on his cellphone. As Bucky, and yourself walk to the elevator, to give a wiggling Alpine a well-deserved bath, you whisper to Bucky that you’ve found the perfect solution about Alpine.

\--

If anyone were to ask the Avengers to describe the marriage between Bucky and yourself, easily would have answered: loving, caring, devoted, inseparable, possessive of one another. Never in a million years would any of them would think to hear both of you raise your voices at each other.

It’s been a few hours since the revelation of the secretion that flooded the compound, it’s origins being via Alpine. Shouting can be heard from the locked room of the Barnes. Heads poking out of individual rooms, shocked to hear muffled yelling. It wasn’t even aggressive shouts, nor near the spectrum of straining screams. It was whiny, and a bit frustrated.

“No! And that’s final!” A muffled husky drawl echoes.

“That’s final?! I have no say in this?” A softer timbre sounds to be near the brink of tears.

“Hell no! We can’t do this to him!” Steve cautiously steps towards the room, sighing to himself. This has escalated beyond anyone’s comprehension. A quiet tap by the knuckles, but it’s not heard; drowned by the hefty voices.

“This can help solve the situation! He can’t keep leaving his semen everywhere!” More determined now, Steve knocks again, finally gaining attention; the arguing has diffused into dead silence.

“C’mon, you two --- open up.” Steve quips, leaning by the shoulder by the door. Crossing his arms, his lips thinning into a line as he hears stomps trekking towards the doorway. A click of the lock, and slowly peeking through a sliver of an opening, was Bucky with a sheepish smile.

“Hey pal, sorry if we’re being too loud. We’ll keep it down.” The words spill hastily from Bucky’s lips, a bit breathless, a bit of guilt twinkles in his eyes. For the fight between his wife or for interrupting the peace --- Steve figures it’s both.

Just a second too late, Bucky tries to close the door, just for Steve to stick the toe of his shoe wedges between. “No. I think it’s best if you tell me what’s going on. I've never heard you two fight like this … or even fight at all.” Steve’s brows perch in sorrow and worry.

“It’s nothing, Stevie. Nothing to worry about, just a little disagreement.” Bucky lies through his teeth, with a faux smile to appease his life-long friend, but Steve wasn’t convinced. Not in the slightest. He eyed Bucky with a knowing look, the one that says ‘You’re lying. I can smell it on you. I'm your friend. I know you.’ Steve jots his hip out with a particular sass, wordlessly informing Bucky he wasn’t going anywhere.

What comes with the package of knowing someone deeply from the inside out — for over seven decades, you can read them like a book.

Know them like the back of your hand.

“Little disagreement, my ass!” Your disembodied voice shrills beyond Bucky’s back, he sharply turns his face over his shoulder, shushing you through his teeth, with flaring nostrils.

Bucky deeply inhales a breath to quill his frustration and exhales. “Steve, don’t worry.” Bucky tries to curl a placid smile, but it was forced --- pulling it right out of his ass. “Buck, what’s going on? I’ve never heard you two fight before, and it’s scaring me right now.” Steve’s tongue clicks.

Buck looked away, can’t bear to see those sympathetic baby blues of his friend --- damn him. Even when Steve was a bird-boned boy, those puppy dog eyes never once failed to make Bucky’s resolve crack.

Damn Steve, and those pitiful blue hues.

Bucky sighs again in defeat, “Alright --- Y/n suggested that Alpine should get neutered.” His words trailed in a hushed whisper dripping with annoyance. The small pitter-patter of feet sneak up from behind Bucky, disheveled curls spring behind his broad shoulder --- most likely of your fidgety fingers roaming to relax your shaky nerves. Steve has seen you do that little tick numerous times during times of distress --- to be honest, he finds it adorable, but right now, he’s too busy fretting over his best friends’ bickering.

It’s unusual --- it’s wrong, even for Bucky, and yourself to be arguing. Granted it’s over Alpine, this fight weighs heavily with importance. It’s best to settle like grown adults --- like good parents --- and find a solution to stop their son’s semen tirade.

"I think it’s better this way. Alpine will stop spraying, and he’s a baby still! He doesn’t need to ma--”

“Let him be, Y/n. He’ll stop eventually, there’s no need to rip his manhood away.” Bucky interjects you mid-sentence, turns around to face you, revealing your puffy dried-teared face -- your weary eyes made Bucky internally wince. Hovering over you, you both squint your eyes at each other, narrowing, and denying to back down to the other --- stubborn mules, Steve mulls.

“What’s this I hear about the extraction of Alpine’s manhood?” Tony’s voice drills, rapid footfalls echoing as he dashes towards you all three. A strangled whine vibrates from Bucky --- the mere idea of Alpine going under the knife sends a shiver of fear and a wave-- a tsunami of protectiveness wash over him, spewing into anger, and distress; he hates that he’s lashing out on you, being the receiving end of his stress, but Alpine’s safety is top tier significance.

And he knows you feel the same way too.

A snicker echoes nearing the end of the hall, Bucky snarls a bit--- knowing damn well who that is.

“Shut it, pigeon!”

Muffled chuckles break a bit through the silence once again.

“Jesus --- Bucky’s making it sound so cruel.” Narrowing your eyes at him, he glares back, his nostrils huffing. “It’s a simple procedure done on a lot of house animals!” Your voice shrills a bit with confidence, tapping your foot against the flooring, emphasizing your argument.

“It’s wrong.” Tony shakes his head sympathetically, sighing with his eyes shut as if he was personally hurt in favor of Alpine. “I care for that little furball. He’s so young, let him get it out of his system ---” Tony trails off as he lifts his gaze through his lashes to see shocked expressions.

Bucky, Steve, and yourself --- Tony hastily turns his head over his shoulder to see the rest of the team tilting their heads to the side with arched brows, struck as if they were smacked upside the head. Tony Stark --- the genius, playboy, billionaire, philanthropist --- who cares for the sanctity of his compound, and expensive decor, his space that has been stained by the spunk of one little Antichrist, is standing up in favor of Alpine Barnes.

“Not on my compound, enough of that! Get him a girl!” Tony huffs, hands high against his chest in defense.

“Never!” You screech, the hairs at the nape of your neck standing straight, resembling Alpine’s pissy stance; at the fear of Alpine bumping fluffies with other kittens. “Why not?!” Bucky barks back, you growl at him. “Because he’s just a baby!” You stomp on the floor.

"Hairball christened my fucking compound -- he wants to fuck. Dear Lord, get him a girl already!” Tony’s arm flies in the air exasperatedly, sputtering. Bucky whispers yes like a chant under his breath, agreeing with Tony, his head bobbing a bit with widened eyes as if it was the greatest suggestion he’s heard all day.

“Tony, no -- I am his mother, and I say I don’t want him furry balls deep in random cats. One isn’t going to be enough, Alpine is a bit impulsive. You seem to forget who his father is. Horny little brat.” Your hands perch at the waist, a stewing stance --- if this was a Chuck Jones cartoon, heavy steam would be emitting from your nose and burgundy burning ears.

“Y/n, I will not let some doctor cut my son’s nuts off!” Bucky whines, more of a demand, his left eye twitching slightly from stress. Trying to end this at his final word. “Don’t do it, Y/n. That’s just cruel. He’s growing into a man.” Tony’s brows raise a bit, attempting to convince you that your idea is just down-right wrong.

An evil act against your child, and let nature take its course for Alpine to lay his knot in any furniture crease, or a feline girlfriend.

Were you ready to now enter this new phase of Alpine’s life? Puberty? At such a young age? Alpine is already a sassy boy --- when boys enter puberty: temperament rises, and hormones are unbalanced --- Jesus, but Alpine isn’t a regular boy, he’s a cat. But still --- the idea, the reality of Alpine now growing up terrifies the living shit out of you.

Earlier during your yelling match, Bucky had the nerve to accuse you of smothering Alpine --- the gull, the fucking nerve when that man spoils Alpine to no end, even encouraging reckless behavior. Who in the fuck were they to question your maternal instincts? Especially, your damn husband.

“He’s not a man, he’s my baby. I don’t want him hittin’ it from the back with every back alley cat he sees.” A crooked brow, your body begins to shake a bit. Furious anger rising from the soles of your feet to your forehead, your skull feeling hot to the touch from coiling anxiety.

“ _LET MY BOY HUMP._ ” Bucky bellows, a vein nearly protruding at his neck, storming back into the room, as if he washes his hands clean with you and the conversation. Ending the discussion at hand.

A familiar squawk screeches throughout the hallway.

Grumbling under his breath, you gasp, “Don’t walk away from me!” Stomping, and descending into the room, barreling into a shared master bedroom with Bucky --- to find the man cradling Alpine in his arms, seated at the edge of the bed with watery blues to strike you deep in the heart.

Break you down to putty, and just give in to his whim.

“Look him in the eye! Look your son in the eyes, and tell him you want to cut his balls off!” Bucky barks and sniffles, holding Alpine under his arms --- extending his arms so Alpine can hang limply in his hold in the air, pointing him at you as if facing Alpine directly could hurt you --- to acknowledge Alpine’s feelings. "I will not!” You sob brokenly, “I love him. I just want what’s best for him!” Your feet dash towards the edge of the bed, snatching Alpine in your arms. A small tremor of a meow looms against your chest, “My baby.” You cry against his fur, wetting his snowy hair as your nose nuzzles against his back. Familiar arms wrap around your waist, sweet lips mumble against your curled dome.

“I love him, Bucky.” You weep and rub your face against Bucky’s molded chest. “I’m scared of him growing up too fast.” Careful not to crush Alpine between you two, Bucky gently rubs against your shoulder-blades.

“I know, doll. I love him too. But I’m scared --- what if something happens to him during surgery?” Bucky mumbles against your head, sniveling. “I worry about that too.” A watery reply.

“Let’s just take a break. Take a nap — all three of us. And when our heads are clear, we’ll discuss with Bruce. He could help us, right?” The only doctor Bucky is keen on being around his son, trusting him to offer the best medical decision for his child’s newly growing pains.

“That sounds like a plan.” With a placid smile, Bucky sighs in relief to hear your heart-beat slowing down to a normal rate. Guilt eating at him for inducing panic in you. “Meow.” Bucky and yourself glance down at Alpine, with those big blue doe eyes, each paw gingerly at your cheek, and Bucky’s. Reassuring both of you that it’s going to be okay.

A picture-perfect moment to capture weary over-protective parents and a child to keep their heads above water. Each a kiss on his little head, Bucky and yourself walk to the bed ready to just cuddle under the covers, with Alpine in the center — the center of your hearts.

Near the entrance stood Steve just blearily blinking, as he tried to process what just transgressed over the past minutes. “This escalated so fast.” Steve whispers, lingering near the doorway, stunned by the whirlwind series that is The Barnes show; shoulder by shoulder, Tony nods with his lips parted. “And got so emotional.” His hand perched and wrist bent above his heart.

Steve and Tony depart from the doorway, closing it behind them, to provide your little family privacy. Informing the rest of the team about the whole emotional rollercoaster that just transpired.

\---

“It’s perfectly normal and safe with current technology to perform surgery on Alpine. Cats at least four months old get it done, that’s when they reach sexual maturity.” Bruce explains with a cautious and sympathetic voice, as Alpine curls himself in the doctor’s arms. Purring as his fluffy tail twirls idly between the crook of Bruce’s elbow.

“What are the benefits of getting him neutered besides stopping the spraying?” Bucky asks, for the last ten minutes, Bucky and you have been asking non-stop questions about how the procedure is done? If there will be enough anesthesia for him during the process? Is it safe for Alpine to be under the drug? Will there be any long term side-effects?

It hasn’t been nearly 24 hours since the whole spectacle of a fight between Bucky, and yourself — the first-ever as a couple, and now standing in the middle of the lab as you both breathe down poor Bruce’s neck with questions.

“Prolonging his lifespan. Pets who are neutered live longer and happier lives without any threats of illnesses. He’s going to be fine, and neutering would ensure that this little furry beast will be with us for a long time.” Bruce playfully scratching behind Alpine’s ear, making his leg shake a bit, mewling a low stretched meow with closed eyes.

A shaky sigh heaves its way out of Bucky and you, as you patted your fingers against your chest, trying to soothe your impending panic — the mere thought of Alpine dying is nearly sending you and Bucky to early graves.

Bucky wraps his arm around your waist, squeezing his fingers into your hip --- a telling sign of him needing to touch you to bring his spirit back to earth, and it’s a comfort for himself to always need you; in emotional presence and touch.

“Okay, we feel better now about this,” Bucky spoke with confidence, but there was a layer of wavering anxiety --- just a bit hanging off the edge of his words. “Don’t worry, Tony and I already called one of the best veterinarians in the city. We’ll stand by if any extra help is needed.” Bucky and yourself exhaled breaths of relief.

“Thank you, Bruce, for all your help.” Bruce smiles at you, “No problem. If you have any questions, never hesitate to ask.” Bruce smoothly weaved Alpine from his hold, and into Bucky’s awaiting arms. “Our sweet boy isn’t going to make us young grandparents today.” You kiss his furry back, as Bucky and Bruce chuckle at your relentless protectiveness.

\---

Misery --- the perfect word to describe the current state of Alpine’s life. Through the transparent cone latched onto his neck, was only visible was massive amounts of white fluff concealing his face. Absolute misery; it’s been exactly six days since Alpine has been spayed; that was an eventful day.

Bucky can still recall Alpine’s tiny claws sinking into his skin, as Alpine clung onto the fabric of his shirt; mewling and crying for his daddy not to let him go. The sight of the medical tools organized on the surgical table terrified the shit out of him. Bucky almost fell to his knees right there in the vet’s room with tears kissing his eyes that Alpine sought out his protection.

Hasty _meowmeowmeowmeow_ spewing, as Alpine refused to release his sharp grips, as Bucky cupped Alpine in his hands, rubbing his tail gently. It took a few minutes for coaxing and coos for Alpine from Bucky and yourself; a few kisses as well.

The incisions are now healing at a moderate rate, still a bit sore, and with an unbearable tickle of an itch. Alpine’s mouth twitching, his little pink tongue lapping over his nose, just fiending to lick his healing cut clean, and nibble on the stitches with his little canines.

Despite the lack of mobility, Alpine arches his little head back in this surrounding plastic cone of hell --- a contraption of malicious intent or so Alpine thinks --- alone stretching non-stop meow resembling a howl baying at the moon, a beckoning call of agony.

The shrill echoes throughout the air like a sorrowful caterwaul, as Alpine is slumped on the couch cushion, his hind-legs fidgeting in dramatics. A high-pitched gasp looms from the kitchen.

It was pleas for endless attention, and doting.

“My poor baby. I know it’s itching. Mommy is here now.” On dashing toes, you run to Alpine from the kitchen, arms out-stretch, with Bucky steadily speed-walking on your trail with a bowl of water in one hand, and the other occupied with a bowl of treats.

“My sweet baby!” You cry, whining that your little one is sore and undeniably irritable from an itch he just can’t touch. Just a few days after the surgery, as Alpine was huddled in the darkness of your room, blinds shut, the temperature set on cool, and bundled like a ball under the blankets dead center on the bed surrounded by pillows is when the inevitable occurs.

_The itch._

Found red-handed with his head tucked in his shaven crotch --- flat-stripes from his tongue on his stitches --- by his parents, there was no choice but to bring forth …. the Cone of Shame. There was a lot of whining, and resistant paws --- he even went so far as to pull the baby eyes to weaken you both in his grasp. Almost caving in --- almost --- you two had to shake off the familiar force of habit of enabling, and to focus on his health.

Now these past days, Alpine mumbles cattily in his cone, more snarky, a little bit of back-talking, and more demands for attention. Including treats galore. In Bucky’s and your perspective, it’s appropriate compensation for Alpine after being and in Bucky’s own words, “So brave. My little man is so good.”

Bucky places the respective bowls on the coffee table, as he gently grabbed Alpine’s back paws in his flesh hand; Alpine was trying to scratch his incision with his back foot.

“No, Alpine. No scratching.” Bucky reprimands him, sweetly caressing his little toes with the pad of his thumb. Alpine’s chin wobbles, “Meowww.” You rub his little dome, your fingernails scraping softly against him if only those nails can alleviate his irritating flesh.

“Poor little guy just wants to lick his crotch.” A frown etches on Sam’s face, as his head tilts backward through the kitchen entryway.

In a moment of humanity, Sam felt bad for the little furry menace; who would have thought that this would happen? Witnessing how Alpine has cried and whined for the past days about his raw stitches, Sam felt his heart bump with sympathy.

He mentally envisioned himself in Alpine’s shoes — paws — Sam wouldn’t know what to do with himself if he had his balls cut. He probably lashes out like a bitch just like Alpine too.

You click your tongue sympathetically, “I know he does, I feel so bad but he can’t.” You shake your head at Sam with a frown, babying your tone as you gaze at Alpine, “I’m sorry, my little baby.” You stroke the tips of his ears pinched sweetly between your tips, as Alpine sighs in defeat, perching his head on your lap. “So it will heal.”

“Does my little boy want some treats?” Bucky bends his head over to kiss Alpine’s little toes, Alpine murmurs kindly under his breath, and indeed that’s a yes. Bucky leans forward a bit, to retrieve a piece of dry chicken breast from the bowl that even had his name painted white in perfect vintage cursive --- thanks to Uncle Stevie --- Baby Barnes.

Flown all the way from Japan, an expensive treat from the other side of the globe --- Organic Freeze Dried Chicken Breast Treats --- but no price is too much for your precious boy. Bucky’s palm hovers over the cone, Alpine’s teeth eagerly snatch it, gnashing and savoring the flavor.

You reposition Alpine in your lap by the guide of your palms underneath his armpits, delicately not to provoke his aching torso, as he now faces his father to feed him, kindred to a greek god being hand-fed grapes.

Nuzzling Alpine’s spine with the gentle graze of your knuckles, as Bucky fed him with one hand, and the other occupied with withholding and stroking his little dainty feet; as he puckers airy-kisses at Alpine. Sam peeking out around the corner, shaking his head with narrowing eyes at the spoiled brat being catered too, as Alpine’s small chewing, and tiny snorts echoes throughout the air.

\---

The compound was quiet. Darkness blankets the living space by the long-drawn black-out curtains. What only can be heard was Alpine’s teeny snores infiltrating the empty space, as he slept curled akin to a ball under his blue blanket on the couch, drifting into slumberland in the living space.

Belly full, satiated from small tummy rubs, and an unwavering shower of affection, and praises --- like the pampered prince he is. Not wanting to constantly physically move Alpine from A to Z throughout the day in his delicate condition, Bucky and yourself let Alpine take his afternoon nap in the common room, as Bucky and yourself both were called into a team meeting earlier.

There was a mulling buzzing noise near the window seal that was cranked open for a nice breeze to flow in for Alpine’s comfort. Dull flapping paper-thin wings snuck through the crisp upstate air, carrying a plump fuzzy bumble bee mindlessly intruding into the inhabited environment. A little dot slipping through the billowing curtains, spotting a small cone that was encased around white fur.

A stretched yawn looms through the quiet space, a masculine figure appears near the hallway that connects by a joint corner into the common room. Rubbing the grogginess by the heel of his palm, Sam yawns again, it’s been a long day, training recruits for Shield. As Sam rubs the nape of his back, trying to alleviate the impending ache --- a crackly shrill of a meow breaks through the dead air, rattling against his eardrums.

Sam knows exactly who that is.

Sam’s feet bolt akin to the speed of light, dashing to the living room and swiftly twirl around the couch, to find Alpine leaning on one paw as the other paw limp, and shake; along with the carcass of a now-dead bumblebee on the carpeting. “Oh shit, Alpine.” Sam winces under his breath, he takes a cautious step towards the agitated feline, only to get hissed at. It was a weak hiss, with Alpine’s chin trembling. 

“I come in peace!” Sam’s open palms rise against his chest, a gesture of an ally. Sam’s blood runs cold with unnerving chills, his knees buckling slightly because he can already envision Bucky and yourself tearing the entire compound to shreds all in the namesake of Alpine Barnes.

Sam’s skin crawled, it would be an epic proportion of ensuing chaos.

“Come on, Alpine. Let me help you.” Sam extends his hand, wiggling his fingers near Alpine, to let him get comfortable with the scent. Alpine’s nose flexes, as he leans in a bit to the hand that is connected to his frenemy. Searching for any potential foul-play.

For a moment, Sam could have sworn Alpine’s features morphed in hesitance, perplexed even. But a kind shine in Alpine’s furry features glows a bit, as he rubs the tip of his nose against Sam’s open palm.

This has to be a dream. Alpine caressing his face into Sam’s hand, what happened? Did Sam trip and fall into one of Dr. Strange’s portals, and collapse into an alternative universe? A timeline where Alpine is … humane? What a twist of odd events.

“Okay ---” Sam began patting down on his denim jeans, as he kneels on the flooring, retrieving his wallet from his back pocket. “Alright, I’m going to get the stinger out. It’s gonna be quick, a real 1-2-3.” Sam’s flicked out his credit card, positioning between his fingertips.

“Let me see your paw.” Sam motioned his hand cautiously towards Alpine’s wounded paw, very leisurely Alpine moved his forepaw towards Sam; his ears flexing back. Gradually Sam twisted it around to see a stinger lodged into the meat of Alpine’s foot.

“Okay, little man. Now don’t bite me, I’m just going to remove it.” Sam warns, his brow arching. The edge of the plastic card nears the stinger --- flick. “Meow.” It was a soft mewl, vibrating in Alpine’s throat, shot right through Sam’s heart. It was as if Alpine was telling Sam ‘I’m scared.’ Alpine has always been a talkative creature -- more like argumentative --- and for some odd sense, anyone can just understand the infliction in his timbre.

Alpine just … gets it.

“It’s going to be alright,” Sam assured him in a low milky voice, it warmed Alpine’s little heart; the pad of his thumb rubbing the edge of Alpine’s little foot. Very carefully Sam whisks the stinger, angling it into a direction for easy removal. A broken shrill erupts, Alpine’s head tilts back, as his foot shivers in pain.

“Meow. Meow --- m-eow.” Alpine spoke in choppy mews, with pleading watery eyes. Sam sighs, as his head hangs low a bit, “Alpine. I know, little man. I can’t take it out with my hand. Tugging the stinger can make more venom go into your paw.” Sam explained to the snowy tom-cat, “Meow?” Alpine cocks his head to the side, his tiny ears shake a little due to the movement.

Sam bites down on his bottom lip, stifling out a laugh. Sam could never deny, Alpine’s many faces can be down-right adorable. “By squeezing the stinger between my fingers, it can cause more venom to enter your system. And if that happens … I’ll never forgive myself.” Sam gestures by pinching the air with his fingers. Not only was Sam not trying to sign his death warrant by Mr. and Mrs. Barnes, but also, Sam can’t handle Alpine’s suffering.

Yes --- these two fight day and night, but Sam doesn’t wish for ill will on the fuzz-ball. And unbeknownst to Sam, Alpine feels the same way --- but both are too stubborn to admit it. Well --- neither will say it in too many words.

“Meow.” A low mewl leaves Alpine as his gaze falls down on his injury. His little toes stretch just a tad bit, as he examines it. A smirk curls at the corner of Sam’s mouth, just amused by Alpine’s pure curiosity. “Meow.” Alpine nudges his foot, telling Sam _‘do it.’_ “Okay. Deep breath.” With a strong yet gentle flick against the stinger, it began loosening in the wounded tissue.

Murmuring hisses seep through Alpine’s tiny fangs, but he never removes his foot away. Sam takes this as a positive sign and then continues to twirl the stinger very carefully so it can begin to loosely fall out.

“See. It’s coming out.” The stinger was now pooling out, following the black tip, was a slimy sack following. Alpine sneers his fangs at it, frustration steering through his veins.

With a small thud on the carpeting, the stinger in its entirety is now completely out. Sam blew on the wound, trying to alleviate the pain. “There you go, Alpine. Now, we just need to call Bruce, he can give you some medici-” Sam was cut off, by a howling hiss, Sam turns to see Alpine snarling at the bumblebee.

Alpine’s hairs were standing up, ready to attack. Sam’s eyes fall to see the bee’s wings flicking a bit against the carpet. It was still dying. “No, Alpine! It’s not worth it!” Sam shields Alpine from bouncing off the couch, trying to get a grip under his arms from flailing. Alpine’s hasty meows are unrelenting as if he was saying _‘Don’t hold me back!’_

Sam was now shushing Alpine in his arms, soothing down his hairs; it works like charm. Alpine’s hisses soon mellow into vibrating growling. “It’s dead, Alpine. You did well.” Alpine’s meows, ‘thanks’ it was a quick one.

“Well, what do we have here?” A husky Brooklyn drawl looms throughout the air, simultaneously Alpine and Sam parts from each other's arms. Both turning their faces to see Steve, Bucky, and yourself smiling widely at the corner of the entrance.

Goofy, and knowing smiles stretching from ear to ear.

“I have no idea what you mean.” Sam denies, standing up to the balls of his feet, as he clumsily stuffs his card and wallet in his pocket. You click your tongue, “Oh, really? Cause it seems you and Alpine were … getting along?” You tease, your hooded lids mocking him, as your hands perch at your hips.

Bucky has the century’s best smug smirk. “Who would have ever known?” Bucky cocks his head at you, his tone high-pitched, and mocking; both snickering. Sam huffs, “I have no idea what you mean!” Sam turns his back on all three of you, covering his face --- his eyes meet Alpine’s and he winks.

Oh — Alpine gets it. He sneakily smiles, with the tips of his front fangs peaking.

“Meoooww!” Alpine draws a mean hiss at Sam, arching his back; a timid swat of his good paw at Sam. Alpine shifts, and twist his back towards Sam with his head maneuvered in a _‘snobbish’_ manner. Sam stuck his tongue at Alpine. Steve chuckles under his breath, tsking the cat, “Alpine, you weren’t raised to lie.” Wagging his finger at him. Alpine meows again, as if he was trying to convince his parents and uncle the _‘truth.’_ Like a stomping toddler, Bucky waltzes towards Alpine, and kindly grabs his little foot. “Okay. I see what you’re two doing.” He cheekily states, he lowly chuckles. Alpine huffs at his daddy, still not letting up.

Sam and Alpine refuse to cave in — just not yet.

“My little boy. I’m going to get Bruce, and some ice, okay?” Bucky nuzzles his finger against Alpine’s ears, and like a big baby, Alpine mewls.

“Thanks, Sam.” A small smile warmly forms on Bucky’s face, the crinkles at his eyes forming. Sam smiles back, Bucky pats him on the shoulder friendly; with that walks back to you and Steve. Bucky wanted to say a whole lot more, than just a simple ‘thanks’ but, it’s good for now. It’s unspoken, that Bucky genuinely means so much more, and Sam appreciates it immensely. A friendship where much isn’t needed to be verbalized for the other to know the amount of love there is in the friendship.

Steve muttered the words, “Please send me the video.” Bucky giggle uncontrollably, holding onto his belly by the arms; his shoulders shaking. “We’ll be right back.” You spoke between tittering laughs, “You two can hang here for a bit more.” You wiggle your slender fingers, happily skipping along with Bucky and Steve in search of Bruce.

Sam and Alpine are now left alone --- again. Both uncertain what to say to each other, Sam sneaks a glance at Alpine at the corner of his eye, and Alpine mimics his actions.

Finally, Sam grows the balls to say something, the dynamics has changed.

“Does this mean we’re cool?” Sam asks, with an uncertain arch of the brow, leaning a bit back in case Alpine is feeling a little too happy with the claws. To Sam’s surprise, Alpine didn't react, but there was a hint of a tiny smile, with a small respectful nod and a blink of his crystalline orbs.

_Yes, we are cool._

Sam just smiles.

A wide goofy smile.

And Alpine smiles back too.


End file.
